


like a house on fire

by regulsh



Category: Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regulsh/pseuds/regulsh
Summary: A question of, what are you bringing to the table?  ::Getting together.
Relationships: Taron Egerton/Richard Madden
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	like a house on fire

It’s always easier. Isn’t it? It’s always easier, when you get on with whoever you’re working with. 

-

People had told them they’d get on like a house on fire, which Richard always thought was a nonsense phrase anyway. It doesn’t imply anything _good_ , does it. Makes him think of danger, instability, imminent collapse. 

It couldn’t be farther from what this actually was, between them. Generative, building something special, they'd hoped. 

No negotiation or sniffing out intentions when they meet. Just a clear recognition of the other, in each other.

-

There is a bit of a sussing out period, like anything, though. Purely professional. A question of, _what are you bringing to the table?_

Taron sings, and Richard who has never been too fucked about music honestly feels captured in a way he didn’t know was possible, thought was only meant for other people. 

Taron sees a tug at the corner of Richard's mouth and his eyes brightening and it’s better than anything, any well-sung note, his heart flying.

-

They have to fall in love first; so it is written. Richard has to be seductive, taken in by his raw talent. It’s not hard. Taron has to be entranced, taken in by his powerful air. It’s too easy.

-

Taron is so deep in it. Has shorthand conversations and spur of the moment ideas that Richard follows, first out of deference. Then, amazement. Then, all too soon, total trust, unthinking. Changeling stuff.

-

On set they exhaust themselves, bone deep. Fictional tempers run high. On one long day, Richard lifts his jaw and declares _no we’re not doing that. fifteen minutes, then we'll go again_. Takes Taron’s hand and leads him away. He goes willingly, relieved. Envious. Amazed.

-

At a house party, one time. Richard is tipsy, and he is as well, both of them sat on the couch. The rest of the crew is there dancing and singing, loud, Taron would be on his feet with them any other time.

Tonight he is mellow on the couch, with Richard, murmured conversation about nothing. Reveling in a moment when they’re on the same wavelength.

Richard is usually quite headstrong, leads with his brain. He does so much with the set of his mouth and the tilt of his brow that Taron marvels at, but his body is a disconnected other thing, solid and staid. Which Taron relies on, his rooted stature. Taron has the opposite problem. All heart, all fidgeting and searching limbs, his head always a long moment behind.

When Richard’s drunk it all connects somehow though, his head and his body, his mood becoming obvious in the loose slope of his shoulders, a generous wave of his hands, the shift of his legs.

Tonight, Richard is pliant like a cat in the sun against Taron. The wine makes it just sensible for Taron to keep his arm slung around his lower back, keep him close. 

That is until Richard lazily puts his mouth on him. One soft lush press against his neck. Open, just once, slick lips and the wet alive twist of his tongue in between them. Richard’s hand slides in concert with it, around him, over his side. His whole body presses against him for a full second, two, before pulling away with a quiet smack against his skin. 

Richard sprawls in the other direction against the cushions, humming.

Taron stays where he is. Still. Cold air rushes against the wet spot on his neck. Shockingly warm everywhere else.

He casts his eyes about. Nobody is looking at them. Everybody caught up in their own private dances and conversations, spinning. Richard’s hand is still thrown against his thigh, foot knocking against his.

-

Richard adores him, he's pretty sure. It gives him a shaky hot feeling to know that, to even think that. Every time he sees Richard’s eyes land on him, it feels like:

He feels like he wants to hide from him. He feels like he wants to show himself to him, entire.

Taron definitely adores him.

-

A standing appointment between them. End of each day. Taron’s feet tucked up under himself on the couch, scrubbed clean. He would sit on his own hands too if it would stop him a moment from flailing, useless, wasted energy.

The layers of expectation and doubt and judgement he piles on himself stack too high eventually. He topples under the weight, groans, hides his face. Richard tugs a reassuring arm around him, helping him to shake it off. Ritual.

Taron pushes Richard with his hand but it only serves to bring them closer. Huddled against him like a child, clutching.

The conversation carries on, he can never even remember about what. Too focused on the slowing of his heart, the feel of the thin fabric of Richard’s shirt under his hand. Fingers caught on the jut of his collarbone like a hold on a climbing wall, saving his life, securing him.

His head tilts up slowly. Drawn by a pulley down his spine. Richard feels him move, tips his face down, a perfect counterpart.

The easiest softest gentlest thing. Their lips just brushing, touching, just breathing. Breathing.

Taron curls his hand loose around Richard’s rib cage. Feels it expand. Inhale. Exhale.

Richard tilts his head just a fraction against him, and the damp inside of Taron’s lip catches against him, and this is it, they are kissing now, this is the moment when it can be defined as such.

Can it.

-

It doesn’t happen again.

The next day Taron arrives and Richard is there behind sunglasses, giving him a cheery salute with his coffee cup.

It doesn’t happen again for at least a week, as he remembers it.

-

They stop pretending after an empty week. They find themselves in the same place often, Richard cupping Taron against his chest, mouth moving slow with his. Almost chaste, the press of their lips, until Richard traces a slow sure hand around the back of his head. Taron relaxes into it, loosens the set of his jaw. It allows Richard’s tongue to find his, and this is new, something to explore. Not strictly new, maybe, as far as filming has gone, but new for them as they are now.

He gathers Taron in his hands, unlocked, open and soothed against him, set in his lap. Richard uses his palms to press his hips down, in a way that could be innocuous, momentary. Giving him the option. Careful. 

Taron takes it. Rocks himself up and then moves down, minimal. Richard responds with a rush of an exhale over his mouth.

They have so much to do, so much on them, in their lives right now. Richard wants to take every single moment as slow as he can, when he can.

-

Their time dwindles, they are both aware. Richard’s last day looms on the schedule.

One of those last nights they both go back to his room. They spend most of the night awake in the dark, ruining themselves for tomorrow. Talking. Touching, when they need to.

He cannot wait to see him again, already.

-

He does see him, again.

-

They stand shiny and bold on the vast carpet, filled with emotions that are the size of the whole universe, stuffed to fit into two people. 

The bracing sea air fills their lungs, salty inhales cleansing them. Emboldened to steal more time. They lie in an outrageous gossamer bed and kiss how they first found it, relearning it now, smooth and unhurried. Side by side, so close their knees knock. Before long Taron makes a steady noise and Richard presses a hand to his chest. Taron takes it. Draws it down to where his hips are tilting, where his dick is hard. Richard rolls his hand around him and effuses, _so good, so special_ as Taron moves, languidly shoves into his hand until he’s moaning and coming and kissing him, more. Something soft and sweet and singular between them.

Afterwards they stay just as close. Taron murmurs _you make me feel so good_ , pleasure flickering in him. Thumbs at the crease in his cheek, the edge of his shadowed jaw.

Richard later says, _the feeling is mutual_.

He can tell.

**Author's Note:**

> i realized i missed the boat on this in real time, and maybe the appetite for this stuff overall, but i was feeling soft and here we are. cannnnnot stop writing these two, please send help +


End file.
